


Scrutiny

by clgfanfic



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:59:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes ignorance is bliss</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scrutiny

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Compadres #12 and later in Black Ops #7 under the pen name Rachel Squire.

Blair glanced up from the _National Geographic_ magazine he was absently leafing through and immediately noted the frustrated and concerned expression on the approaching doctor's face.  He dropped the magazine onto the coffee table and stood up from his chair to greet the man.

"You Blair Sandburg?" the short, barrel-chested man asked.

"Yes," Sandburg said, the anthropologist immediately cataloging the man as the product of an interracial marriage – African-American and Japanese, he guessed.  Probably the product of a WWII GI finding his love in Japan.

"I'm Hioshi Franklin," the man said, confirming Sandburg's suspicions.

The doctor nodded to one of the nearby plush couches in the otherwise empty waiting room and Blair followed him over and sat down next to the man.  "What's wrong?" he asked.  "Is Jim—?"

"Detective Ellison is…" the physician interrupted, then paused, absently smoothing down his graying mustache for a moment before he continued.  "Let's just say that we're finding it rather… difficult to treat Detective Ellison."

"Difficult?" Blair echoed.  "I don't understand."

The doctor shifted uncomfortably and sighed.  "We haven't been able to find an anesthesia that will allow us to clean and stitch the wound.  Mr. Ellison's getting, well, to put it bluntly, a little belligerent."

"Ahhh," Blair said, nodding.

"He's demanding to see you."

Blair started to stand, but Dr. Franklin reached out and motioned him to sit.  Sandburg dropped back down and the doctor leaned slightly closer.  "I suspect that Detective Ellison is more than adequately anesthetized to endure the procedure, but he doesn't _think_ he is.  Although how he can see what we're doing behind the screen we've erected I don't know."

Sandburg fought back a slight smile.  The good doctor had no idea he was working with a full blown Sentinel.  "So, what do you want me to do?"

"Since he's demanding that I bring you in, I was hoping you might be able to, well, distract him while we do what we have to do.  I'm hoping that if he's occupied with you he won't realize what we're doing."

"Sure," Blair agreed.  "But, um, maybe it'd be better if I have a minute or two alone with him?  Time to, you know, really get his attention."

The doctor nodded slowly.  "I think that would be all right.  He's in no danger, I just want to get that leg stitched up as soon as I can and get him out of here."

 _I'll bet_ , Blair replied to himself, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

Franklin stood and Blair followed him, shaking his head.  Stopping for lunch wasn't supposed to be dangerous, it was just a burger joint…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Look, Sandburg," Jim growled good-naturedly, "I respect all this academic enthusiasm, but I'm _not_ going to spend a three-day weekend floating in some tank of warm Jell-o."

"It's not Jell-o," the graduate student corrected as they pulled up at The All American Diner.  "The liquid's a special hydropolymer that increases your buoyancy so you can float without exerting any effort."

"Whatever," Jim replied, climbing out of the truck.

Blair sighed slightly before climbing out as well.  He stepped around the front of the truck to join Ellison, saying, "Look, how am I supposed to figure out—"

"Shh," Ellison said, his hand coming up to punctuate the demand for silence.

"What is it?" Blair asked softly.

"Sounds like something's up inside…"

"Something?" Blair echoed.  "Like a robbery?"

Ellison's brow furrowed.  "I don't think so," he said, heading for the door.  "Maybe a woman having a baby…"

"A baby?"  Blair grinned at the thought Jim delivering a baby for lunch.  He jogged over to catch Jim at the door.  At that distance even he could hear the high-pitched feminine wails echoing inside the diner.

"You stay here, Chief," Ellison instructed.

Sandburg sighed, but nodded his assent.  Jim disappeared into the small restaurant and silence descended.  Blair contemplated opening the door and sneaking a peek, but the sound of glass shattering, an even louder scream, and his partner's muffled curse was enough to convince him to go ahead and do it.

Stepping into the diner, Sandburg was met with what would have been an amusing picture if it hadn’t been for the spreading bloodstain on Jim's upper right thigh.  The detective held a young woman draped over one shoulder, her short pink uniform hiked up far enough to reveal 101 Dalmatians underwear.  Her arms windmilled as she tried to land blows on Jim's head while maintaining a steady stream of heated conversation with a young man cowering on the far side of the restaurant's counter.  The boy ducked as she managed to grab a salt shaker off one table, hurling it at him.

"I said settle down!" Jim bellowed, giving the girl a rough shake.

She squealed, but went limp over his shoulder.

"Jim, are you okay?" Blair asked, moving closer.

"They fell into that display," a young boy said, pointing.  He grinned up at his mother and she hushed him.

Blair guessed that the boy's grin belied just how much he'd been enjoying the melee – much to his mother's displeasure.  He turned his attention back to his partner.

"Jim?"

"I'm fine," Ellison growled, tossing the girl off his shoulder and reaching for his handcuffs.  She started to struggle, but a low snarled comment rendered her submissive.

As Jim ratcheted the cuff into place Blair took a step closer.  "Jim, you're _not_ fine, man."

Ellison pulled the girl up so she was standing next to him.  "What?"

"Your leg," Sandburg said, nodding.

Ellison looked down.

Sandburg watched as Jim's expression shifted from mildly curious to surprised as he realized for the first time he was bleeding.  Then, slowly, the detective's eyes rounded and his face went tight as the first wave of pain hit.

"Oh… damn," Ellison said, stumbling back to a booth and sliding down the bright red plastic to sit.  An older woman in the booth next him took one look at the spreading red stain on Ellison's jeans and promptly passed out over her BLT.

Blair moved to his partner, who refused to release the young woman's arm.  "I'll call—"

"I already called the cops," called a gruff voice from behind the kitchen counter.

The distant wail of sirens confirmed the man's claim.  Blair took over escort duty, jerking the girl away from Jim, glowering at her.

"What was this all about?" he demanded.

She jerked her head in the direction of the young man who remained ensconced behind the counter.  "My _boyfriend_ ," she spat.  "He got me pregnant."

Blair's gaze dropped to her narrow waist, well sculpted by the tight uniform she wore.  "Pregnant?"

Her head snapped back so she was staring at Blair, her blond ponytail quivering with anger.  "Yeah, and he won't believe me."

Blair glanced from the girl to the young man, who was shooting both him and girl a contemptuous sneer.  He shook his head and looked back to Ellison.  The detective had emptied the napkin holder, using the paper to create a dressing for the still bleeding wound.

"How're you doing?"

"I'll be fine," Jim replied as the restaurant door opened and two uniformed officers stepped inside.  Ellison held up his badge, saying, "This one," and pointing at the girl.  "Disorderly, assault, and destruction of property."

"Hey!" she cried as one of the officers took her arm and led her toward the door.  "It's not my fault!"

"And good riddance!" the boy called after her, but stopped there when the older man from the kitchen stalked out and stood in front of him, hands planted firmly on his hips.  "What?" he asked.

"You're fired!"

"Fired?!"

"Fired!  You can't just go around gettin' girls pregnant, not takin' responsibility!"  Applause from the patrons drowned out anything else the man had planned to say.

The boy snorted and shook his head, then bolted for the door, shoving it open and storming out.

The second officer knelt next to the booth, examining Ellison's wound.  "I'll call for an ambulance."

"No," Jim said, gingerly scooting to the edge of the booth before he stood up. "Not for me."  He nodded at the unconscious woman.  "But you'd better check her out."

The officer nodded.

Ellison fished into his jeans' pocket and pulled out his keys, tossing them to Blair.  "You drive."

Sandburg nodded and escorted his hobbling partner back out to the pickup.  Adjusting the seat so he could reach the accelerator easier, he pulled into traffic and headed for the nearest emergency room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

That had been almost an hour ago, and the doctor still hadn't managed to pin Jim down long enough to do the necessary stitches.  Blair drew a deep breath and let it out slowly as he followed Franklin, forcing himself to relax.  He wouldn't be any help to Jim if he was bouncing off the walls.

The treatment room was small, white, and crowded with equipment, a nurse, and an annoyed-looking attendant.  Ellison lay on the small treatment table, a drape beginning at his waist and held up off his legs by the metal gyn-stirrups that were attached to the corners of the table.  The detective was muttering softly to himself while the nurse and attendant looked like they were considering a baseball bat as a feasible form of anesthesia.

Dr. Franklin gestured to the pair to join him in the hall.

Blair gave the staff members a slight smile and a sympathetic hike of his eyebrows, then moved directly to the head of the treatment table.  He started down at his friend.  "Jim?"

Ellison's face was pale and damp with sweat.  Tightness at the corners of the detective's eyes and mouth stated clearly that he was in considerable pain.

"Jim?" he repeated as was rewarded by two blue eyes blinking open.

"Chief?"

"Yeah, it's me," Blair assured, reaching out to rest a hand lightly on Ellison's shoulder.  "The doctor said you wanted to see me?"

"The pain," Jim hissed softly.  "This is too much."

Blair thought for a moment, then squeezed slightly and said, "Okay, this is kind of like when you got shot that time… remember the pain dial?  Maybe we can turn down the pain again."

"I tried that," Jim moaned slightly.  "Didn't work."

"Maybe because you're having trouble concentrating," Blair soothed.  "Look, let's just try this, okay?"

Jim nodded.

"Okay," Blair said, "close your eyes, take a deep breath, and relax."  He watched as Ellison did, but there was no change in the knots of pain-wrinkles at the corner of the man's eyes.  "Try it again, a deep breath, let it out slow… relax."

Ellison followed the instructions – a clear sign of his distress – with no change.

"Okay, this isn't working…" Blair trailed off as Franklin stepped back inside.  "Uh, just a couple more minutes?"

The doctor nodded and stepped back outside.

"Got any ideas, Chief?" Jim asked.

Blair couldn't miss the trust and hope staring back at him from Ellison's blue eyes and swallowed hard, hoping what he had in mind would live up to that expression.  "Yeah, I do," he said.

Moving closer to the edge of the table, he leaned over so his line of sight matched Jim's.  "Okay, what we need to do is get all of your other senses zoned out, kind of overwhelm the tactile."

"Okay," Ellison agreed.  "But how do I do that?"

"I want you to look at me, and I mean _really_ look, count my eyelashes or something."

"But that's just my sight."

"And I want you to listen to my voice," he instructed, adding softly to himself, "that's aural and visual…  Oh!  Okay, and see if you can smell out what I had for lunch."

"We didn't have lunch, remember?"

"Okay, what I had for breakfast, or which shampoo I used this morning."

"I get the idea, Chief."

"Good, and while you're at it, focus on my hands on your shoulders, that'll divert the tactile.  Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Dr. Franklin?" Blair called.

The physician stepped back into the room.  "He ready?"

Blair nodded, then immediately turned back to Jim.  "Okay, now, focus… look at me, listen to me, feel my hands, nothing else.  Tune out everything except me, concentrate on me, Jim."

Sandburg watched the subtle shift as Ellison's gaze locked on his forehead.  He kept up a steady stream of quiet affirmations as the doctor and nurse began their work, his fingers tightening on Jim's shoulders when pain began to tug at the corners of the detective's mouth.

In twenty minutes the doctor was finished.  "That's it," Franklin announced.  "He needs to stay off his leg for twenty-four hours, then only light use for seventy-two hours.  And he should see his regular doctor sometime during that time."

Blair nodded.  "Thank you."

"No, thank _you_ ," Franklin, then nodded at Ellison.  "Looks like he's out of it."

Blair looked down at his friend, finding him asleep.  He grinned and called softly, "Hey, Jim, come on, man, it's time to go home."

"Hmm?" Ellison said, his eyes cracking open.  "What?"

"It's time to go," Blair repeated.  "I'll drive."

"You?"

"Me," Blair said matter-of-factly.  "Besides, I've got the keys."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The drive back to the warehouse flat they shared was quick and quiet.  Blair pulled up at the curb, letting Jim off there, then pulling around the corner of the building to park.  He locked the doors, then jogged back to the building's main entrance.  Jim was nowhere in sight.

Blair pushed the door open and headed for the apartment.  Inside he found Jim stretched out on the couch, sound asleep again.  With a smile and a shake of his head, he climbed the stairs to Ellison's bedroom and grabbed a blanket to cover the sleeping man with.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Sandburg had just finished cutting the baked potatoes open when Jim padded into the kitchen on bare feet.  The detective yawned and stretched, then scrubbed a hand through his short hair, saying, "Smells good.  I'm hungry."

"Glad to hear it," Blair replied with a smile.  "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," Jim said with a shy glance at the younger man.  "I appreciate what you did today, Chief."

Sandburg shrugged in reply, but Ellison clearly saw the light blush that colored the younger man's cheeks.  As Blair continued to arrange their dinner on two plates, Jim leaned back against the counter.  "You know, when they were stitching me up and I was concentrating on you…"

"Yeah?" Blair asked, his curiosity leaping to the fore.

"Well," Jim said seriously, "I had to concentrate on something, right?"

"Right," Blair replied, uncertainty clear in the slight waver in his voice.

"Well, it was the hair."

"Hair?"

"Your hair," Jim said, the first hint of a smile playing across his lips.

"You zoned out looking at my hair?" Blair asked.

Jim nodded.

"That's amazing!" Sandburg said, his dinner chores completely forgotten.  "That means that you really can control your senses for… pleasure, for self-indulgence, for—"

"Whoa, Chief.  I wouldn't call that 'pleasure.'"

"But that's not the point.  What this means is that you can randomly pick things to focus your senses on— It's not a response to a stimulus.  It also means that we're going to have to do some work to see if—"

"Sandburg," Jim said, holding up a hand to stop the tumble of thoughts trying to escape the anthropologist's mouth.  He pointed to the two plates of food.  "Before it's cold, okay, Chief?"

"Huh?" Blair asked, then looked down.  Seeing the half-finished plates, he put the puzzle back in place.  "Oh.  Oh, sure.  No problem.  Let's eat."

"Great.  I'm starved."

After a quiet dinner Sandburg carried the plates back to the kitchen after ordering Jim to "stay put" on the couch.  The detective shrugged and grabbed the remote, surfing through the channels before settling on CNN.

Blair re-emerged from the kitchen a half-hour later, dishes washed and coffee brewing.  Joining Ellison in the living room, he dropped into a chair and sighed heavily.  "Man, I'm beat.  Can we talk about your senses tomorrow?"

"Sure.  Get some sleep," Jim said.

Sandburg flashed his friend a rueful grin.  "Don't I wish.  After some coffee and the three chapters I have to read for Friday."

Jim leveled a sympathetic look on the younger man.  He was still amazed that Sandburg was able to keep up with his classes while tagging along all the time.

"Get up early and read," Jim suggested.

Blair shook his head.  "Noooo, not me, man.  I'm a night owl.  I'm allergic to morning."  He pushed himself up.  "You want some coffee?"

Jim shook his head.  "But thanks."  As Blair started for the kitchen, Ellison added, "Oh, what I was going to tell you when I got up…"

Sandburg stopped.

"When I was zoned out on your hair I found thirteen gray hairs," Jim said, watching the younger man's reflection on the television screen.  "Just thought you'd want to know."

"Gray?" Blair echoed, his tone disbelieving.  He shook his head.  "No way, Jim.  You just imagined it.  Probably just a few light hairs, _blond_ hairs mix in there."

"No, they were definitely gray."

Blair shook his head again.  "Good night, Jim."

"Night," the detective replied with a grin.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Making his way slowly down the stairs, Jim noted that the kitchen was empty. He glanced down at his watch – 7:21.  Sandburg was either running late, or he was already gone to his eight o'clock class.  He concentrated, listening.

A slight sandpaper-like scratching sound was all he could make out, and he frowned, wondering what it could be.  The noise wasn't regular, but irregular, and punctuated by odd puffs of air… or breaths?

Ellison reached the bottom of the stairs and followed the sounds to Sandburg's room.  He paused outside the closed door, listening again.  The graduate student wasn't in his room.  The soft but clear sound of a mumbled "damn" reached Ellison's ears and the detective smiled.  He headed for the bathroom.

Pausing outside the half-open door, Jim leaned against the doorframe and watched Sandburg combing through his hair with his fingers, looking for gray hairs.

"I can see one from here," Jim said.

Blair jumped and turned, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.  "What?"

Ellison forced the grin back undercover.  "I said I can see one of those gray hairs from here."

"No way, man," Blair replied, grabbing a brush and drawing it through his hair.  Then he paused, looking concerned.  "Where?"

Jim stepped forward, and pinched out a hair on the crown of Sandburg's head.  "Here," he said, tugging on the offending strand.

"Where?" Blair asked, straining to get a look at the hair in the mirror.  "That's not gray!"

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's _not_ ," Blair argued.

"Yes, it is," Ellison repeated, giving the hair a yank.  "See?"

"Ouch!" Blair yelled, ducking, his hand coming up to cover the top of his head while he glowered at Ellison.

"Definitely gray," Jim said, waving the single hair in front of his friend's eyes.

"Give me that!" Blair demanded.

Jim carefully laid the silvery strand in Sandburg's palm.  The graduate student raised his hand so it was inches from his face and studied the hair.

"It _is_ gray," he moaned.

"I told you," Jim said.  "I saw thirteen, so you've got twelve more to go."

"I guess so," Sandburg muttered, turning back to the mirror.  "Man, I can't believe I'm already going gray!  This is all your fault, you know."

"Hey, it's only thirteen hairs, Chief."

"But I'm not even thirty yet!"

Jim grinned.  "Could be worse."

"How?"

"You could be going bald."

"Okay, you have a point, but gray?"  He leaned closer to the mirror and teased out another silvery hair, then pulled it out.

"Ah, now you've got seventeen."

"What?  Are you crazy?!" Blair asked, his eyes going wide.  "They can't grow _that_ fast!"

"Don't you know three more gray hairs grow back for every one you pull out?" Ellison asked, straight-faced.

"Three?!" Sandburg almost squeaked.

Jim nodded sagely.

"Oh, man…" the younger man moaned.

"There's another one," Jim said, reaching out to grab the first single hair he saw.

"Jim!  Don't— Ouch!"

"And there's—"

"No!  Out!  Out!  Out!" Blair bellowed, pushing Jim out of the bathroom and slamming the door.

In the hallway, Ellison grinned and chuckled as he heard the sandpaper sound start again.  "Hey, Sandburg!"

"What?"

"You're going to be late."

There was a pause, then, "Oh, man…"  The door opened and the graduate student rushed past, veering through his room to grab his backpack.  "I'll be back around noon," he called as he passed through the front door.

Ellison waved to the already closed door and shook his head.  Sometimes it was just too easy….

 

The End


End file.
